“You!” he growled. “I seem to be cursed with the misfortune of making your acquaintance yet again. Have your parents considered locking you up in a barn, as a favor to Society? You are clumsier than the proverbial bull in a china shop.”
“The only curses seems to be coming from your unbridled mouth, sir,” retorted Augusta. “Perhaps it isyouwho should be locked up in a stall, given such barnyard manners.” Her feelingswere already in an agitated state, and his untempered rudeness caused a wave of anger to wash away her usual shyness. Really, how dare the insufferable man keep implying that the blame for these mishaps was all hers!
A slight flush came to the earl’s cheeks as he rose and carefully brushed the dust from his immaculate navy merino jacket. He looked as if to say something, but Augusta pointedly turned her back on him and began to gather up her books as if he didn’t exist. When she straightened, he was still standing there, regarding her with a look that made no attempt to hide his ire at her deliberate snub. His gaze raked down from her slightly disheveled hair to the prim neckline of her gown to the pile of leatherbound volumes in her arms.
A snort of derision came from his curled lips as he surveyed the titles. “Your father ought to send a more capable person to do his errands,” he sneered. “You really should stay in the section with horrid novels—much more the thing for your type of flighty female.”
She knew she shouldn’t bother to respond to his gibe, but she couldn’t restrain herself. “These books are forme, sir, not my father or any other male relative.”
He gave a bark of laughter. “Ha! You may leave off trying to convince me of that farrididdle. Somehow I doubt that sewing and sketching and whatever other inane things you ladies learn in the schoolroom have quite prepared your intelligence—such as it is— for these works. They may be in French, but they are not flowery snippets of romantic nonsense. You are wasting your money and your time. Why, I’d be willing to wager a goodly sum that you won’t get past the first page.”
“A fool and his money are soon parted,” she shot back, gratified to see his eyes narrow in further irritation. “And what do you think—that winning a fortune at cards, racing a curricle down St. James’s Place at midnight in the nude, and beddingother men’s wives qualifiesyouas intelligent?” she went on, heedless of what dangerous ground she was now treading on.
There was a moment of ominous silence. “Have a care, Miss,” he said softly. “If you were a man I should be tempted to call you out for such words.”
“If I were a man, I imagine I would be tempted to accept.” She paused for a fraction. “But women have infinitely more sense than to wave pistols at each other on account of some momentary fit of pique.” With that, she shouldered her way past him and walked quickly toward the front of the store.
“Nowthat,my dear, is the proper way to make an exit,” murmured Marcus under his breath as he watched her walk away. His anger was slowly giving way to a grudging admiration. Once again, an awkward situation had prompted less than exemplary behavior from him, yet this time, she had not fled in tongue-tied embarrassment but rather had parried his sharp words with equally cutting ones of her own. Indeed, she had accounted for herself quite credibly, her set-downs showing a quickness and a cleverness he would never have suspected from their initial encounter.
She was obviously not as bird-witted as he had first imagined, though he wasn’t sure he quite believed her assertion that the books were for her. They were difficult going. Of that he was well aware, for several of them were ones he had been struggling to make sense of for the past week.
His lips quirked. Perhaps he should discover who she was so he could arrange to meet her father or brother. If they had half the spark that she did, it might prove interesting to cultivate the acquaintance, though, judging by her manner of dress, itdidn’t promise to be a family of any consequence. However he might actually discover someone with whom he could share an intelligent conversation.
Heaving a sigh, the earl carefully rearranged the folds of his cravat and brushed the minute wrinkles from his fawn breeches. The girl was certainly developing an unfortunate knack for making him look bad—in every respect. He was suddenly aware that not only had he forgotten to tender an apology to her for the other evening but that he had compounded his earlier transgressions with an even worse account of himself today.
It wasn’t as if it mattered a whit what some unfashionably-dressed chit thought of him, but his honor as a gentleman demanded that he at least offer some words of regret for his unsavory language. A lady, no matter how provoking, should not be subjected to such words.
After locating the book for which he had come, Marcus tucked it under his arm and returned to the front of the store, determined to get the thing over with.
There was no sign of her. He turned to the clerk hovering near his elbow. “Another customer was just here and purchased a number of books. Do you know who she is?”
“L … Lady Augusta Peabody?” stammered the fellow.
Peabody. His brows drew together. “Lord Farnum’s daughter?” he demanded.
The clerk nodded. “Y … yes, my lord. She comes here quite often.”
Good Lord, he thought, as his book was taken away to be wrapped. Edwin Peabody’s sister? Now it was not merely honor that required him to make an apology, but something even more important.
Tryas she might to focus her attention on the printed page, Augusta found her thoughts kept turning to the lean face, the full, chiseled lips curved in a look of distaste while the mocking blue eyes made no attempt to hide a look of utter disapproval.
As if she cared what the insufferable man thought of her!
Repressing an unladylike word, Augusta snapped the book shut and began to pace her small study. This time, at least, she hadn’t made a complete hash of defending herself from his cutting words. In fact, she realized with a start, her ripostes had sallied forth, unbidden, before she had a chance to think about what she had been saying. Not only that, they had actually pricked the man’s overweening pride. Though it might have been foolhardy to risk making an enemy of such a man as the Earl of Dunham, it had been worth it to see the look of surprise, then outrage that spread over his features.
It was a shame those features were so riveting to look at.
The tumble of dark locks, worn longer than was fashionable, and arched brows only accentuated the depth of color to his eyes. Not a soft, languid blue but a rich cerulean plummeting to shades of slate when his ire was raised—a state with which she was growing quite familiar.
The angular planes of his face emphasized the sense of chiseled strength that radiated from his person. No matter his other faults, weakness of character did not appear to be one of them. It was interesting, too, that the hardness in his face did not have the look of calculated coldness or cruelty. Though it was hard to explain, she sensed that his anger might appear razor-sharp, yet was somehow a bit blunted around the edge.
And he was not stupid. His quick tongue and reputation for acerbic wit proved that, though she rather doubted that his thoughts ever ventured beyond issuing scathing set downs. After all, if rumors were true, he spent all his time in idle pursuit of pleasure. His luck at the gaming tables was legendary, as was his prowess at sport … and seduction. More than a few whispers during the interminable morning calls she was forced to make with her mother and sister had reached her ears concerning his all too obvious charms.
All of a sudden, she found herself thinking about the sensual curve of that broad mouth, and what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against her own?—
What in heaven’s name was she thinking of, to entertain such improper, not to speak of absurd, notions!Why, she loathed the man, and it was clear he felt the same way about her. But it seemed her body was intent on betraying her intellect, feeling a perverse attraction to the most unsuitable choice imaginable.
Her hands flew to her cheeks. They were hot to the touch. Perhaps she was coming down with a bout of fever—for only a sudden illness could account for such a delirium.
